


I Was Fucking Disappointed in Man of Steel So This Is How I Deal With It: By Rewriting My Least Favorite Scenes Into Something I can Vaguely Stomach As A Superman Movie

by themocaw



Category: Man of Steel (2013), Superman (Comics)
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Gen, How It Should Have Gone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-18 01:33:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1410067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themocaw/pseuds/themocaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I was fucking disappointed in "Man of Steel," so I decided to deal with it by rewriting my least favorite scenes into something I can vaguely stomach as a Superman Movie</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Was Fucking Disappointed in Man of Steel So This Is How I Deal With It: By Rewriting My Least Favorite Scenes Into Something I can Vaguely Stomach As A Superman Movie

**Author's Note:**

> "Are you saying I should just let them die?"
> 
> "Maybe."
> 
> "Dad, you're a fucking tool."

"My son was there!" the terrified mother said. "He was on the bus! He saw what Clark did!"

"Helen," Jonathan said, his voice firm and calm. "Pete didn't see anything."

"Lana saw too!" Helen Ross insisted. "The other children as well. And this isn't the first time that Clark has done something like this! Do you remember the time. . ."

"Helen!" Jonathan barked, in a voice he had not used since leaving the military over ten years ago. "They didn't see anything!" He wheeled on the terrified woman, jaw set in a hard line, index finger jabbing towards her chest like the point of a spear. "They were children. They were terrified. They were panicking and they were confused, and they didn't see what they thought they saw. They didn't see anything!"

The woman's eyes were wide, disbelieving. Her lower lip trembled as she clutched the purse in her hands like a drowning woman clutching at a rope. "Why would you hide this, Jonathan?" she whispered. "This is a miracle from God! We can't keep this under a bushel, we need to tell the whole world. . ."

"If this is a miracle from God," Jonathan said firmly, "then God will let it be known. Until then, Helen, I'm going to stick with what the accident investigators found. The bus drifted into the riverbank. If it had slid a few feet one way or the other, it would have continued downstream and all those kids would have drowned. Isn't that enough of a miracle for you?"

Helen Ross's face screwed up in a tight, terrified expression, and she broke into terrified sobbing. Jonathan grabbed her shoulders and pulled her close, hugging her fiercely, strong arms enfolding her in his protective grasp. 

"I don't know how you can stay so strong," she whispered, as Jonathan released her at last. He handed her his handkerchief, which she gratefully used to wipe her reddened eyes and blow her nose.

"I'm not strong," Jonathan admitted. "Inside, I'm just as scared as you are. I'm not made of steel." He reached out and gently brushed her matted hair from her face. "But Clark's even more scared than I am right now. So I need to be strong enough for him to lean on. Pete's going to need you too."

"He's been such a brat recently," Helen laughed ruefully. "I was so angry at him. But when I heard the news, all I could think of was that the last time we met we screamed at each other. . ."

"Time enough now to make up for that," Jonathan said, smiling. "Best to go spend time with him now. You never know how long you really have left."

* * *

It was an exhausted, contemplative Jonathan Kent who walked back into the front hall of the farm house, his brow furrowed with care, his hands shoved into the pockets of his shabby windbreaker.

"He's out back waiting for you," Martha said. "What are you going to say to him?"

"I don't know, Martha," Jonathan admitted. He leaned against the wall of the house, running his hard, calloused hands through his hair. "Am I wrong, Martha? Maybe Helen Ross is right. Maybe we should tell the world about what Clark is. . . what he can do."

Martha Kent wiped her hands off on her apron and put her arm around her husband's shoulders: the same broad shoulders that she'd fallen in love with so many years ago. "You raised him well," she said. "A little too well. He sees the way you try to help everyone around you, and he wants to do the same. The only difference between the two of you is that Clark can do so much more to protect the ones he loves."

"So you do think I'm wrong," Jonathan said.

"No. I'm saying that we raised Clark to protect and care for others. But who will care for him?"

Jonathan nodded in reply and wrapped his arms around his wife. . . the woman he had loved for so long. The mother of his son.

"Better go talk to him," Martha said again. "I think he's ready to listen to you now."

* * *

He found his son sitting on the back of the old pickup truck, head bowed, shoulders hunched. Eyes distant - the same look he'd seen in the eyes of men who had been in war far too long. Thirteen years old, he'd already looked death in the eye.

 _Thirteen years old,_ Jonathan thought. _I remember being thirteen. Too old to be a child, too young to be a man. I don't envy you this, Clark._

"Helen Ross came by," he said, walking over next to his son and leaning against the side of the truck. "Pete Ross's mom. She says that Pete saw what you did."

His son didn't reply, but Jonathan saw his grip on the truck's bed tighten. Steel and plastic creaked under the grip of his childlike hands. 

"Clark," Jonathan said, softly. "We've talked about this before. You can't just. . . you need to keep this part of you a secret--"

"Well, what was I supposed to DO!?" Clark shouted. "Just let them die?!"

"No!" Jonathan snapped. "No, of course not. . ." He sighed, shaking his head. "Maybe. I don't know, Clark. I don't have all the answers, but. . ."

"Then why are you yelling at me about this!?" Clark shouted. "I didn't do anything wrong!"

It was like watching a bent branch suddenly snap. The thirteen year-old boy in front of him spun around and smashed his fist into the bed of the truck, years of pent-up frustration and rage channeled into that strike. Clark's hand smashed through the steel truck bed, hit the frame, caused the entire truck to sway and bounce.

Jonathan had to leap back to avoid getting hit by the out-of-control vehicle. He bit back the angry words that rose up in his heart at the sight of his ruined truck, forced himself to look at Clark. . . look at the frightened and angry boy standing in front of him. . . to look at his SON, instead.

"No, you didn't do anything wrong," Jonathan admitted. "But that doesn't mean that the world won't punish you for it."

Clark sat down on the grass, shoulders shaking, staring remorsefully at the bent steel and plastic that had once been the bed of Jonathan's pickup. His clenched fists loosened. Flecks of paint and metal fell onto the ground.

Jonathan sat down next to him, rested his elbows on his knees, looked up into the setting sun. "There was this guy I used to know, back in the Army," he said. "His name was Jeff Siegel. Good guy, like you. Strong, brave, kind. One day, while on leave, he saw a car swerve out of control and smash into a light pole across the street. He ran over and helped the injured people out of the car. He got them out just before the car caught on fire. All he did was try to help others, but it ended up ruining his life.

"You see," Jonathan sighed, "Jeff was a homosexual. The car crashed across the street from a bar where homosexuals congregated. His paper got in the news, and it came out that Jeff was gay. He ended up kicked out of the military. His parents and family refused to talk to him. They thought he was going to hell. Jeff ended up having his entire life torn apart just for trying to help people in need."

Clark frowned at that. "I'm not gay, Dad," he said.

Jonathan laughed and put his arm around his son's shoulders. "Yeah, I know. I've seen you and Lana Lang. Of course, if  you do decide you're gay, you know your mother and I will support you, right?"

"You've told me that, yeah," Clark said, rolling his eyes.

"Good. Smallville's a good town in a lot of ways, but in some ways, the people here can be a bit backward in their thinking. My point is, Clark," he went on, "There's more at stake here than our lives. Or the lives of those around us. The world is going to find out what you can do, and when it does, people are going to be afraid. It will be just as stupid as people punishing Jeff Siegel for loving who he loved, but they are going to be frightened and angry, and they will do some stupid things. You need to be the bigger man, Clark. You need to stand up tall and take it, because you will be the stronger one. Because when the strong hurt the weak, that makes them. . . ?"

"Bullies," Clark repeated.

"Bullies," Jonathan said. "And if there's one thing that your mother and I raised you not to be, it's a bully. But right now, you're not yet a man. You're still in junior high school. You don't yet have the strength or knowledge or experience to deal with what the world can throw at you. Eventually, the day will come when you will be ready to tell the world about who you really are. But until that day, you need to protect yourself, and your mother and I will protect you too."

Clark nodded slowly, some of the tension easing from his shoulders, the anger and frustration slowly ebbing from his body. "Is Mrs. Ross right?" Clark asked plaintively.

"Hm?"

"Did God do this to me?" Clark asked.

Jonathan looked into his son's plaintive eyes, into the eyes of a young man questioning who and what he was, and he thought of the secret that he'd kept hidden under the old barn for thirteen years. He had known this day would come. He hadn't expected it would come so soon.

 _Thirteen years old,_ he thought.  _Too old to be a child, too young to be a man. But perhaps enough of a man to know what he needs to know._

"Come with me," he said, getting to his feet. "I'll show you."

 


End file.
